Sick of Losing Soulmates - Prose

There was an echo in bloom. Fog covered the autumn scented sky to an extent of utter blindness. No sense in direction, follow your instincts. An accumulation of redwood and cedar trees created a forest. Behind the house of the forest, stood a graveyard with few tombstones and with moss covering the names. 

Mimi thought it was serene. 

She often visited her mother on special occasions. On Thanksgiving, she brought a pecan pie to her grave and shared it with a family of squirrels. It was mother’s day and she brought lilies of the vallies and two bees kissed after collecting the nectar. When the day turned Easter Sunday, she purchased a bouquet of peeps and chocolate bunnies and a trail of ants attacked it for it to be thrown in the trash on Wednesday. 

Her mother would have been turning fourty if her body chose not to produce cancerous cells in her pancreas. She would be celebrating her early 40’s with caramel latte cake and gold confetti balloons. She would comfort Mimi whenever a boy broke her heart and let her cry for hours on end. She would hold her hand whenever she felt heavy around her stomach when entering a location for the first time. She would have been a joy to have around. When her mother died, Mimi was convinced her soulmate died that day and she was to never find one again. She gave up sending smiles to kids in the hallway who curled up in the corner with no one near them. She stopped volunteering at the nursing home, letting the elderly stare out the window wondering if she was alright and when she would bring them company. 

People were drawn to Mimi and her kindhearted nature. But she found no point in making others happy again. 

There was a light thump on her shoulder. Mimi shuttered, unaware that she knocked down a yellow chrysanthemum from one of the cremated vases nearby. Her body turned slightly to reveal herself facing forward. Looking down, she found the flower and picked it up from the ground. Her soft tan fingertips caressed the petals delicately. She thought it was remarkable, and her mother would love it. 

Once placing the chrysanthemum on her confined shoulder, another hand laced with hers. It was pale to the point where you can see his bones pop from his knuckles. His ebony curls made their way, interlocking with Mimi’s light brown waves. Ear to ear, close breath. It was practical intimacy. 

“I believe you have something of mine,” the stranger whispered into her ear. Mimi’s face paled as if she saw a murder happen right before her eyes. Her mouth clenchted, stretching to make the shape of a circle. Before a mortified sound could be heard from the orange lighted house in front of the woods, he placed his hands on her pink thin lips. He believed them to smell like roses. Gosh, how he wished he could smell again. 

“Who are you?” Mimi asked, clearly terrified of the bizarre encounter. 

“Lucas McClairen.” He said. The name sounded familiar. “Who must you be?” 

“Mireya Rocha.” 

He smirked at her answer. He knew who she was. It felt right having her say it in her gentle voice. “What brings you to the cemetery, Miss Rocha?” 

“I’m here to visit my mother. She passed away when I was ten. It is her birthday today. Or shall I say ``was?” It was Mimi’s turn to smirk but at the gist of making eye contact, the two souls exchanged subtle laughter. One out of anxiety and one who would hopelessly do anything to make the other content. 

“Birth days remain the same. Whether or not the person is alive or not.” 

“Are you alive?” She asked him in a joking manner, glaring at him. Her hazel eyes meet his brown, almost black eyes. He had a wound above his left eyebrow and on his collarbone. His rugged blue flannel had been burned in the bottom hems. There were pokes of his bones and he was all white, as if he skipped meals for a few days. Despite this, she found comfort in his darkness. 

“I believe so. But if I learned to live once I died, wouldn’t that make me unworthy?” 

“I don’t think so. Once we are on our deathbed or wherever we choose to die, we realize what life is truly about.” Her eyes trailed to his naturally red lips and fluttered back to make eye contact. “You are not unworthy.” 

“There is no need in celebrating birthdays if deathdays are the day we learn to live.” 

“I completely agree with that statement.” They once again shared laughter, till their ribs ran out of oxygen and Lucas found his back on the copper leaves. Pulling Mimi’s fingers, he dragged her to fall on his belly. She dug her chin in his body and layed there for what felt like a lifetime. Realizing she was enjoying herself, she laid next to him and continued talking. 

“How old are you, Lucas?” 

“Seventeen, Rocha. What about yourself?” 

“I will be seventeen in a week.” 

“It’s wicked that your birthday is on Halloween. Especially on a Friday.” 

“Agreed. Though, I only wish she was here to celebrate with me.” 

“Missing someone is always the hard part about grief. But carrying the legacy makes it entirely worth it.” 

“Why might you say that?” She asked him, tilting her head. He felt like his body on fire and she was the match. He pulled her close and embraced their lips together. It was unlike any form of affection, as it was light though passionate. He planted his hands on her face and brought her to his lap. Wanting more, she rolled on his pants only for her to open her eyes and stare into oblivion. She stared at the sky above her, trees surrounding the sky in a ring. 

A pit of despair came from her stomach as she saw the mossy covered grave. She couldn’t believe she missed that one. 

Lucas Jay McClairen 

1986-2003

Beloved son, family member and friend 

Remember our conversations. For that is how we pass stories down.’